Night Fire (23 page)

He was wild with his own need, beyond himself, and when he exploded inside her, he cried out her name and felt himself falling blindly, freely, until he realized that she was with him, holding him and loving him and urging him. And then he knew oblivion, and it was perfect.

Arielle finally opened her eyes. He was still deep inside her, his breathing hard, his head on the pillow beside hers. She smiled, lightly stroking her fingers over his cheek. Then she froze.

No, she thought, oh, God, no.

Burke felt her tense. Immediately, he rolled off her. “What is wrong? Am I too heavy for—”

She was shaking her head and rising. “Dorcas!”

Dorcas? Burke tried to regain his wits. What the devil was going on here?

“She was standing there, in the shadows by the door. She was watching us, Burke. Watching.”

Burke rolled off the bed. “Stay here. Please,” he said as he put on his dressing gown. He pulled the belt tightly about his waist. He walked barefoot to the adjoining door, opened it, and went into her bedchamber.

Arielle didn't understand. Was it possible that Dorcas had heard them and thought perhaps that Burke was hurting her? Yes, that was it. That would be the only reason the old woman would do such a thing. Oh, God, how long had she been watching them?

She heard Burke moving about in the other room; then he called out, but she couldn't make out his words. Finally he rejoined her. “I couldn't find her,” he said.

“I know why she came in,” Arielle said. “She must have thought that you were hurting me. It's the only possible explanation.”

He looked worried and angry. She heard him curse very softly, some of his words so lurid that she laughed.

He grinned at her rather sheepishly. “Sorry, but that's the outside of too much. Now, let me bathe you. Stay still and I'll fetch a cloth.”

While he was running the warm, wet cloth over her, he was saying, “Do you hurt?”

“Just a bit sore, that's all.”

“I was excessively enthusiastic. Here, does this make you feel better?”

He was pressing the cloth firmly against her, and she felt embarrassment. It was silly; after all, he was her husband, and she imagined that he knew her body every bit as well as she knew it herself, but still—“Yes,” she managed to say.

He patted her dry, and before she could respond, he leaned down, parted her with his fingers, and kissed her.

“Burke.”

“Hush.”

He was caressing her, his tongue probing and stroking, and she was so embarrassed that she jerked upward, pulling away from him. He looked up at her flushed face and smiled. “You're beautiful,” he said simply and that, she supposed, was that.

“My face?”

“That too.”

“Oh.”

“Back to one syllable, I see.”

“I didn't know that—well, I'm not certain that you should do what—oh, dear.”

He laughed, gently kissed her again, lightly stroked his fingers over the rich red curls, and came up to lie beside her. “Now let's talk. I can manage five minutes of talk, I think.”

She ducked her face into his shoulder. She hadn't imagined that a man would do that. It was disconcerting, it was—Then she thought about herself, on her knees, taking a man's member into her mouth, and she choked back a sob.

“What is this?” Burke felt a stab of concern. He'd expected her to be embarrassed, but this? “Come, sweetheart, what's the matter?”

“I was just remembering how I would be on my knees and how I would—”

She didn't finish. He hugged her to him. “I know. I know. It's all right. Hush now.” He sighed deeply and kissed the top of her head.

“Do you want to speak to Dorcas tomorrow, or shall I?”

He felt her become alert at that. “I'll speak with her, Burke.”

“Perhaps she came in because she heard you moaning with pleasure and she couldn't believe it.”

“That,” Arielle said, “is a possibility.”

Burke doused the candles. “Let's sleep now, before I am overcome with lust for you again.”

He heard her soft laughter in the darkness and he smiled.

It was barely dawn, soft gray light setting into the bedchamber. Burke turned in his sleep, leaving the warmth of Arielle's body, and felt the air, cool on his flesh, and came awake.

He opened his eyes and looked up into Dorcas's face.

I
t was her eyes—vague, the pupils pinpoints of light in the dimlit room—that made Burke come awake in an instant. He saw her raised arm, saw the knife in her hand. It was aimed at Arielle. He shouted, striking up at her arm as he rolled over Arielle to get to Dorcas. The blade slid into his flesh. He felt a shudder of cold where the knife had struck, then a blessed numbness. The knife was jerked out of his flesh, its way smooth, even slick, leaving its path frozen. He'd experienced this before, knew what it meant.

Arielle came awake under Burke's weight and his yell. She looked up.

“Dorcas. No!” She saw the knife, saw the tip of it dripping blood. She saw the old woman lift her arm, saw the knife coming down. Burke again was trying desperately to cover her, and she felt the stickiness of his blood, knew he was hurt. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she slid up, away from him, raised her pillow in front of her as the knife descended. It ripped through the pillow to its hilt, missing Arielle's throat by an inch.

But Arielle wasn't afraid for herself; she was terrified that Burke was going to die. She screamed in fury when Dorcas tore the knife from the pillow. She lunged at the old woman, smashing her against the night table next to the bed. The knife flew out of Dorcas's hand and went skidding across the wooden floor. The old woman was yelling now, fierce, obscene curses. She was panting heavily, her fists flailing at Arielle.

Arielle heard Burke behind her, but she paid him no heed. She brought her leg up and slammed her foot into the old woman's stomach. Dorcas screamed, doubling over. Arielle rammed her fist into Dorcas's jaw, and the old woman crumbled to the floor.

Arielle stood over her for a moment, breathing hard, the insane strength and purpose still holding her in its grip.

“Arielle.”

She whirled about and saw Burke standing beside the bed, one hand clutched to the bedpost for support, the other holding his injured shoulder. Blood flowed from between his fingers, down his chest. She stared, unable for a long moment to take it in.

Then she quickly grabbed her dressing gown, thrusting her arms into the sleeves as she dashed into the corridor yelling at the top of her lungs, “Alec! Knight! Percy!”

She shouted their names again and again, and within seconds, Alec, shrugging into his own dressing gown, flung open the door opposite her.

“What the hell? Arielle?”

“Quickly! It's Burke!”

Arielle ran back into their bedchamber. Burke was now leaning against the bedpost. His chest and hand were crimson. There was a pool of blood on the floor. His foot, she saw blankly, was splattered with blood.

“Oh, my God. What the devil happened?”

Arielle felt a strange calm come over her. She didn't recognize it as shock, but Alec did. He took her hands and began to rub them rhythmically. She said slowly, as if she were a child reciting a piece for an adult, “Dorcas tried to kill me. Burke saved my life. He is hurt. Ah, Knight, there you are. Please have one of the men fetch Dr. Brody immediately. Thank you.”

She turned, stepped over the unconscious old woman, and walked to her husband. “Sit down,” she said. Then she went to the basin, moistened a towel, and came back to him, pressing the folded towel against the wound.

Alec said very gently, “Let me do that, Arielle. I'm stronger, and we need to get the bleeding to stop.” He didn't add that she wasn't pressing in the right place.

She looked up at him, and he felt his guts twist at her lost expression. “It's all right. He'll survive. He's a tough specimen, you know. Why don't you sit down, too? Burke needs you to be strong now.”

She did as she was told. Burke gathered her against his good side, hoping his ability to make that gesture would help reduce her shock.

Nesta, Lannie, and Percy rushed into the room, staring silently at the unconscious Dorcas and at the people who stood over Burke by the bed. No one remarked that the earl was quite naked.

“What happened, Arielle?” Nesta asked.

Arielle carefully repeated what she'd told Alec.

Percy gingerly picked up the bloody knife. “My God, is she insane?”

“It would appear so,” said Burke, trying desperately to focus on anything outside himself. The pain had come suddenly alive. The blessed period of numbness was over. Throbbing, burning heat had taken the place of the deadening cold. He knew what was to follow and he didn't like it at all. The irony of being stabbed in his own bed after surviving years of fighting the French wasn't particularly amusing at the moment.

Knight came back into the room. “I sent Geordie for Dr. Brody. Joshua is here, as well as every servant in the Abbey.”

Burke tried to get hold of himself. He had to keep control; he had to tell them what to do. But the bloody pain was drawing him under. Then, to his astonishment, he heard Arielle say, “Please have Joshua come here and take Dorcas away, Knight. He can lock her in the sewing room at the end of the east corridor. Tell Montague to have Mrs. Pepperall watch her. Dr. Brody will see her after he takes care of Burke. As for the other servants, please have them dress and go downstairs. We will start the day. I doubt any of them would wish to return to their beds. Oh, yes, have a fire set in this room immediately.”

My God, Burke thought, striving to keep the pain from swamping his brain, she is acting the mistress here. How wonderful. “Now, Burke,” he heard Alec say, “I want you to lie down on your back. Arielle will help you. I will keep applying the pressure. Percy, come and assist me.”

Burke moaned—he couldn't stop himself. “Arielle,” he whispered and reached for her.

“I'm here,” she said, gripping his hand. “You will be all right, Burke. I promise.” She paused then: “Lannie, please have Cook prepare some coffee and tea for everyone, and whatever else you think proper. Thank you. Now, Burke, take shallow breaths. That's it. Excellent.”

Alec lifted the towel and saw that the bleeding had slowed considerably.

“Please continue, Alec,” she said, looking down at the wound. “It's almost stopped.”

He smiled. She was holding herself together admirably. She needed to. Burke would need her to. He was beginning to believe all of Ravensworth Abbey needed her to.

Arielle gently eased the sheet up to Burke's waist, smoothing it across his belly, wanting to
do
something, anything. He'd saved her life. He'd cared enough about her to die for her. She felt a crumbling inside her, a slow release of long-embedded memories, dark memories, bitter memories. For an instant, she saw an odd image in her mind. It was a candle and it was lit, but its flame flickered as it was buffeted by the wind. The wind grew stronger, but that flame didn't flicker out. It didn't die. The wind was a gale now, but the candle grew brighter. Then suddenly the wind died. It was gone, over. And the candle burned brightly. In that same moment, Arielle felt warm and strong. She felt herself smiling slightly as she said to Nesta, “Please light candles. It is too dark in here for Dr. Brody when he arrives. And fetch fresh hot water, Nesta, as well as towels and bandages.”

Nesta quickly left to follow her instructions.

“I'm proud of you,” Burke said and tried not to crush her fingers when a wave of pain silenced him.

She didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. She lightly stroked her fingertips over his jaw. “You need to shave,” she said, and he smiled, albeit a very slight one.

“There,” said Alec. “The bleeding has stopped. Now, Burke, don't move. Brody, is that his name?” At Arielle's nod, he continued. “When the fellow comes, I want him to be impressed by all our respective handiwork. I need your cooperation in this, Burke.”

“He will be impressed,” said Burke, then winced, his mouth closing over his moan. He heard Arielle's voice, so soft and comforting, whispering to him, and he found that if he concentrated on the sound of her voice, it did ease him. He remembered that April afternoon and evening after the Battle of Toulouse, when he'd lain trapped under a dead horse. He'd thought about her then, relived every moment they'd shared in order to escape from the horror that surrounded him. “Thank you, Arielle,” he said. He saw her smile; then she leaned down and gently kissed him.

“You will be all right, I swear it. You are my husband, and I won't let anything happen to you.”

Arielle's husband
. He liked the sound of that; indeed he did.

All of Arielle's orders had been carried out by the time Mark Brody arrived. Knight told him what happened as the two men climbed the stairs.

Burke was lying quietly, his wife seated beside him on the bed. He managed a ghost of a smile. “I need patching up, Mark.”

“Let's take a look.” Mark lifted the towel and probed as gently as he could. “I remember well that saber wound in your side. You healed miraculously fast, Burke. Ah, the stab wound doesn't appear to be all that deep, thank God. I think you're a lucky man. Nothing vital has been injured, and the muscles look all right. About the only thing I should do is clean it well and set in a few stitches. We'll keep bascilicum powder on it. You heard that, Arielle?” At her nod, he continued to Burke. “I'll look at the old woman after I finish here, but I don't understand much about this sort of thing. I can drug her and keep her relaxed and calm. Insanity, you believe?”

Arielle answered. “It's very complicated, Doctor. I've been thinking a lot about it and I fear she has been going mad, very slowly. I would just as soon not talk about what pushed her to do what she did.” She paused a moment, and Burke was appalled at the pain he saw in her eyes. “Burke and I will discuss it,” she said at last, “once he is feeling better.”

The doctor nodded and, in silence, numbed the wound, then put in the stitches. Finally he liberally sprinkled on bascilicum powder. “There, Burke. Now for a bandage.” When it was done, Mark said, “Let me give you some laudanum. Sleep and rest are the best things for you. Don't get up or you'll begin bleeding again. Can you keep him in that bed, Arielle?”

“Certainly. He isn't stupid. He will obey me.”

Alec chuckled and Burke groaned.

“I'm a betting man, and my groats are on Arielle,” Knight said.

 

It was late afternoon, damp and drizzling. The bedchamber was as gray and gloomy as the out-of-doors. Knight sat in the high-backed wing chair beside Burke's bed. It had been two days since the old woman's attack, and Burke was mending well.

“Ah, you're finally awake. Get your wits together, then tell me how you feel. Or if you don't feel like conversing, you can close your eyes and drift off again.”

Burke felt light-headed and vague. The damned laudanum, he thought, shaking his head just a bit. The abrupt movement sent a slice of pain through his shoulder, and he quickly sucked in his breath and held himself still as a stone.

“I'm all right,” he said at last.

Knight grinned at that overstatement. “I do hope this is your last wound, Burke. You'll look like a scarred warrior, and we both know it's just because you're so clumsy that you got wounded at all.”

“Thank God for such good friends. I think I'll go back to sleep.”

Knight lightly touched his friend's arm. “Shall I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, brandy—”

“Sorry, that isn't amongst your choices. Arielle's orders. It will have to be lemonade.”

“Surely you're jesting. Lemonade?”

Knight paid him no heed. Burke watched him with vague eyes as he rose and walked to the bedside table. He poured the lemonade, leaned down, and helped Burke drink it without spilling it.

“Good,” Burke said when he'd finished the glass. “That's damned good. I had no idea.”

“That's what your wife said. She said you would kick and fuss but you would drink it if you were desperate enough and you would like it.”

Burke smiled. He felt his head begin to clear. His shoulder was throbbing steadily but the pain was tolerable. He wanted no more laudanum, for the moment at least.

“Sit down, Knight, and tell me what's happening. How long have I been out of things?”

“It's Sunday afternoon. The old woman stabbed you at dawn on Friday morning.”

“Ah. You poor devil—you didn't go to the mill.”

“There will be other fights, I fancy.” Knight paused, seeing Burke was looking thoughtfully toward the fireplace.

He waited.

Finally Burke said, his expression suddenly fierce, “I must get well enough to get out of this damned bed. It's Arielle, you see. I can't leave her to face all the servants and all this damnable nonsense—it would simply be too much for her.”

Knight laughed. “Didn't you hear me tell you that it was your wife who ordered the lemonade for you?”

“So? Lemonade, for God's sake, that's nothing, Knight.” That outburst brought a jab of pain that made him draw in his breath sharply. He closed his eyes and his lips became a thin line.

Burke finally managed to get hold of himself. “Listen to me, Knight. Arielle isn't ready yet to take control, she's so vulnerable, you know that.”

“Just a moment, Burke. Let me tell you a little story. No, hold still and keep quiet. Now, it was yesterday afternoon, just about this time, the weather as gloomy as it is now. George Cerlew had a problem and he asked if he could speak to her. Do you know that your wife went with him without hesitation, to the estate room, and closed the door? I very nearly interfered, but thank God I didn't. I happened to see them walk out and she was giving him very precise, very intelligent orders. Also, I heard one of the maids earlier on Saturday tell Mrs. Pepperall that she needed to speak to Lannie about something, and Mrs. Pepperall sniffed and told her that it was
her ladyship
who would handle the matter. Montague began by hovering protectively over her, and now that old curmudgeon is at her beck and call, awaiting her orders. It's been an incredible change, Burke. You have no need to worry.”